


About Emma Martin

by peachcitt



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Aged-Up Character(s), Based on a Tumblr Post, Co-workers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Identity Reveal, Ladrien | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachcitt/pseuds/peachcitt
Summary: “You’re only asking for a name, right? It doesn’t have to be my real name?”“Of course,” Chat said. "Just a name to use for you. Whatever name you choose.”orchat asks ladybug for a name to use for ladybug when he's famous and giving thank you speeches. seven years later, the name bites marinette in butt. based off ofLNC'stumblr post
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 64
Kudos: 842





	About Emma Martin

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! just like the summary says, this fic is based off a brilliant idea from [LNC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LNC/pseuds/LNC)! go find her on [tumblr](https://lnc2.tumblr.com/) and give her some love
> 
> enjoy :)

_ “There’s something that’s been bothering me for quite a while, bug.” _

_ Marinette whipped her head back from around the corner and pressed her back against the wall as a painting of Joan of Arc threw a Greek vase at her. “Me too,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s odd that all of the sentient paintings all seem to be centered around the restoration room?” _

_ “What?” Chat asked, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean, yeah, I guess, but-” _

_ “Get down!” she yelled, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to the ground as a Monet swan flew over their heads with a spear in its mouth.  _

_ All of the paintings in the immediate area turned sharply toward them. _

_ “Huh,” Chat said. “Do you think they have ears?” _

_ “I really don’t think it matters,” Marinette said, grabbing his wrist and sprinting toward the restoration room. They shielded attacks from various sculptures, gilded frames, and weaponry with their baton and yo-yo combined, and then Marinette was yanking the door to the restoration room open, Chat was slamming it shut behind her, and they moved in tandem to push a shelf in front of the door to barricade it shut. _

_ “So back to the matter at hand,” Chat said, the shelf rattling with the force of the paintings banging on the door. They both moved to find something heavier within the room to block the door. “I’ve been thinking about when I get famous.” _

_ “Don’t you think it’s quiet in here?” Marinette asked, shoving a stool underneath the door handle. She stopped, looking back at him. “When you get famous? Chat, we’re literally in the middle of an akuma attack.” _

_ “Yes, it is quiet in here,” Chat said, waving her to the side so that he could better force the stool into a position that would hold the door shut. “I suppose that’s concerning, and yes, I do know we’re in the middle of an akuma attack.” _

_ She stepped back, surveying the room. It was eerily empty. “All of the paintings were guarding this room. Why?” She looked between shelves, taking note of the restoration tools and empty work desks. “And you’re Chat Noir. You’re already famous.” _

_ “I mean as my civilian self,” he said, and she snorted. “Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was to firstly tell you that I know why the paintings were protecting this room, and to secondly tell you that I’m concerned about my award acceptance speech.” _

_ Marinette raised an eyebrow. “And why is- Chat.” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “Why didn’t you say the akuma had you at knife point.” _

_ “Hm.” He seemed to consider it for a moment. “Well, I mean, I suppose you would’ve noticed eventually, being the wonderful hero you are.” _

_ “Peace and quiet,” the akuma said, digging a sharp restoration tool into the side of Chat’s neck. “That’s all I wanted. Is that too much to ask for?” _

_ “When you have a painting war zone right outside your door? Yes,” Chat said. “LB, how should I credit you in my future award speech?” _

_ The akuma’s knife hand raised, getting ready to strike. “Duck!” Marinette called, slinging her yo-yo across the room. Chat dutifully ducked, and the wire of the yo-yo wrapped around the akuma’s torso. _

_ “Duck?” Chat asked, dancing out of the akuma’s grasp to stand next to her. “That’s not really your style.” _

_ “You know what I meant,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes. In the split second she looked away, the akuma wriggled out of the yo-yo’s confines and had their arms raised high in the air. “Oh, no.” _

_ “Well, that’s not good,” Chat said. Marinette glared at him. _

_ “This is your fault.” _

_ “You’re very right, and I sincerely apologize.”  _

_ Half restored figures and shapes pushed their way out of protective boxes and drawers, shaking fingers clawing at cardboard and metal alike. _

_ “I’m only asking for a name, Ladybug,” Chat said as Marinette stared in horror as the shadowy figure of Jesus Christ grabbed a hammer from a work desk and held it threateningly. _

_ “We can’t have this conversation later?” Marinette hissed. A Saint Sebastian crawled out from a drawer and pulled an arrow from his side, chucking it at Marinette. She moved out of the way just in time. _

_ “After this battle, we’ll no doubt have to go our separate ways rather quickly, and I don’t want to wait until the next time there’s an attack,” Chat said, grabbing an empty frame from one of the shelves and using it to shield himself from a painting that came at him with sharp fingers. “That just feels wrong somehow.” _

_ “Just call me Ladybug!” she shouted as Jesus came at her with the hammer. _

_ “Well, I can’t do that,” Chat said, pulling her out of harm’s way and blocking the hammer attack with his baton without even a spare glance. “Then people will think I’m just talking about the heroine of Paris, and it’ll just be silly.” _

_ “But you  _ would be _ talking about the heroine of Paris,” Marinette said, quickly calling on her lucky charm. A box of matches fell into her hands. _

_ “Right,” Chat said, gently guiding her by the elbow to a wall they could press their backs against while she thought and he shielded her. “But you’re more than just the heroine of Paris to me. You’re my partner, my best friend, the fire of my heart.” _

_ “That last one was a little forced,” Marinette said idly, her eyes catching on a stool, a jar of paint, and a q-tip. _

_ “Yeah, I know, not my best. But the point still stands.” Marinette chewed on her lip. _

_ “You’re only asking for  _ a  _ name, right? It doesn’t have to be my real name?” _

_ “Of course,” Chat said, watching her slide open the matchbox and pull out a match. “Just a name to use for you. Whatever name you choose.” _

_ “Fine. Then…” She struck the match. “Emma Martin. And I’m going to need that stool.” _

_ He grinned. “Right away, LB.” Before he dropped his protective guard entirely, his grin softened into something a little sweeter. “Thanks, my lady.” _

  
  


_ \--- _

**(Seven years later)**

“You’re not going home?”

Marinette looked up from the dress form, keeping her fingers pinching the fabric she’d just been about to pin. Bridgette, her coworker and self-titled underling, was standing beside her, coat on and bag slung over her shoulder. Taking the pin out of her mouth and sticking in through the fabric she was pinching, Marinette brushed off her fingers and gave Bridgette a smile. “Not quite yet. I want to get a head start on these alterations.”

“The show is a week from now,” Bridgette said, shaking her head. “And tonight is the Hero’s Parade. It’s like you never have fun.”

“I do have fun,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes. “I’m having fun right now.” She gestured to the dress form.

“Right,” Bridgette said rather skeptically. “Sure. But you shouldn’t stay here too long, fun or not. Practically everyone else has gone home.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Marinette said, looking around at the empty workshop. “Since it’s Hero’s Day, most went home early.”

“Except me, you, and Adrien, apparently,” Bridgette said. “And I only stayed because I was afraid you’d get lonely.”

“And because you didn’t finish your work from yesterday,” Marinette said with a scoff, and Bridgette grinned.

“That too. But really, I’m leaving now so that I can see the start of the parade.” She stepped back, fixing the strap of her bag and lifting her hand in farewell. “Whenever you leave, make sure to drag Adrien out with you.”

“Will do,” Marinette replied, waving goodbye to Bridgette before turning back to the dress form. For a while after, she continued smoothing out the fabric, pinning it in place and stepping back to see if it still looked alright.

When her eyes started to hurt, she squinted at her watch and sighed. The parade was probably half way done now, and she needed to show up for at least the end.

Looking around the workshop, Adrien was nowhere to be found, so she slipped into the office space, stopping by her own desk to grab her coat and bag before going over to Adrien’s. He was hunched over his desk, squinting at what looked like payment statements on his computer, tapping numbers into his phone calculator and typing those numbers into an Excel sheet.

“Adrien,” she said, and he startled, rubbing his eyes and looking up at her. His hair was a mess, and she itched to fix it for him, but she didn’t. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Bridgette told me to drag you out whenever I left.”

“Oh,” he said. He squinted at her before rubbing his eyes, sitting up straight. His back cracked. He winced. “I thought you would’ve left early for Hero’s Day.”

“No, I wanted to get started on alterations, and I…” She trailed off, looking off to the side and attempting to swallow down a blush. “Well, I figured you’d be staying late, and I didn’t want you to be here all alone.”

“Ah.” He looked down at his desk, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I just really wanted to look over these payments to make sure we were still in budget for the show, and earlier I was planning out the makeup brief - which I was going to go over with you tomorrow, but I guess if you’re here now-”

“Adrien,” she interrupted, and he stopped. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he sighed, slumping back in his chair. “It’s alright.”

“I know,” he said, and he ran his hands down his face. “It’s just. You know how it is on the anniversary of…”

“Yeah, I know.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go, scratching her thumbnail on her bag strap. “But I’m not letting you stay here all night like you did last year.”

He blew out something that could’ve been a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, standing up and shaking his head. He put his computer to sleep and gathered up his things, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and slinging it over his shoulder. “Thanks, Marinette.”

“No problem,” she said as they walked to the elevators. “I know it must be even harder this year, what with the stress of our show looming over us.”

“Nope,” he said, reaching around her to press the down button. “Being a co-designer with you is most definitely the  _ least  _ stressful thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“Yeah, right,” Marinette said as they stepped into the elevator. “I must be  _ so  _ easy to work with, what with me flying into a panic every other hour over every little thing.”

“That’s to be expected,” Adrien said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s the first show you’re ever leading. It’s natural to want it to be perfect.”

Marinette spared him a glance as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “It’s your first show, too. As a lead designer, that is.”

“Sure, but it’s with you,” he said, and Marinette looked up at the ceiling of the elevator, biting the inside of her cheek. “With anyone else, I would panic, but it’s you. I’ve known you to be brilliant since lycée, and there’s hardly anyone I trust more.”

“Maybe I should interrupt you at work more often,” Marinette said with a laugh that she hoped didn’t betray her red cheeks and fast beating heart. “It seems to earn me an extra dose of flattery.”

“Generally, I feel like it’s only considered flattery when it isn’t earned,” Adrien said, and she shook her head, looking down at the floor and bumping his shoulder with hers. He bumped her back. “Are you going to try to catch the parade?”

She looked down at her watch. “Maybe just the tail end. Are you?”

“Probably the same.”

They looked at each other. 

“I promised Alya-” Marinette started at the same time Adrien said “I think my mother wanted to-”

They both stopped. They laughed. The elevator doors opened up to the ground floor, and they stepped out.

“Tell you mom I said hi,” Marinette said, and Adrien nodded.

“Of course. She’s always happy to hear from you,” he said, and Marinette smiled. “Tell Alya hi for me?”

“Definitely,” Marinette replied, and he smiled back at her. They stepped out into the chill air of the evening, and Marinette tilted her head at him. “See you tomorrow?”

“Until tomorrow,” he agreed, nodding to her. “See you in the morning, Marinette.”

They went their separate ways, and not twenty minutes later, Marinette was dropping down onto the float at the front of the parade right next to Chat. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Marinette smiled and waved.

“Thank goodness you’re here, LB” Chat said, reaching over and giving her hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “I was starting to talk to her instead.” He nodded his head over to the cartoon version of her face plastered to the front of the float.

“I’m sure she made great company,” Marinette said, and he shot her a smile.

“Extremely. She was very agreeable and smiled at all of my jokes.”

“Out of pity, I’m sure.”

“Undoubtedly.”

At the end of the parade, they grabbed ice cream and sat down on a park bench. They blended right in with the dispersing crowds, all dressed up in their own imitations of the two most prominent heroes of Paris’ costumes. Chat handed her the cherry on top of his ice cream, and she took it gratefully, trading it with the mini Snickers bar that had come on top of hers.

“Seven years, huh,” she said, leaning back on the bench and biting the cherry off the stem. “I can’t believe it’s already been so long since we caught him.”

“In just a few years it’ll be a decade,” Chat said, popping the mini Snickers into his mouth. He made a face. “Hm. That’s weird to think about. I don’t like it.”

“Even weirder when you think about how we defeated him our first semester of university. Literally how,” she said, and he snorted.

“I barely passed that semester.”

“I nearly lost my scholarship.”

“Being in school was weird.”

“Being a superhero  _ is  _ weird.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a moment. Marinette looked over at him. “How have you been?”

He looked over at her. “We literally saw each other for coffee two days ago.”

“I meant today,” Marinette said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Chat always got a little down on the anniversary of Hawkmoth’s defeat, and, although she didn’t know why, she always made sure to check in with him. “How have you been  _ today?” _

Chat wrinkled his nose, looking out across the street. “No worse than any other year, I guess. Maybe better. A friend pulled me away from work before I ended up staying the whole night again.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” Marinette said, and he smiled.

“Yeah. She’s always reminded me a bit of you.”

“Because she’s strikingly beautiful, charmingly witty, and devastatingly talented?” Marinette asked, making a show of flipping her hair over her shoulder. Chat’s lips quirked up at the corners.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the hair. You both have black hair.”

She let out a laugh, bumping his shoulder with hers, and he smiled, bumping her shoulder back.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Okay,” Marinette said, taking a deep breath. She took another deep breath. “Okay.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Adrien said, and Marinette nodded.

“Yeah, I know,” she squeaked out. She took another deep breath. “Okay.”

“The show went perfectly. Everyone seemed really pleased with our designs,” Adrien said, reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze. “They’re probably only going to ask about the process, our inspiration, what it was like working together. That kind of stuff.”

“Right,” she said. She picked at the seams of her dress, realized what she was doing, and then moved her hand to pick at the seams of the very nice, very expensive car seat. She took another deep breath. “You know, I just think it’s weird that I have to be a part of an interview, like is it not enough that I designed all of these pieces -  _ we  _ designed, but I’m sure you don’t mind the interview bit; you’ve done tons of them and always done beautifully - and I even got out on the stage of the show and waved my hand and smiled at the end like I wasn’t seconds away from throwing up - is that not enough? Now I have to - what -  _ talk  _ for an hour in front of a live studio audience? Answer questions that I might not know the answer to? Oh, God, I might throw up. Would it be awful if I threw up? Do you have gum? I’ll probably need gum, the minty kind. Why didn’t I bring gum when I  _ knew _ -”

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted, and Marinette stopped. He smiled at her. “You’re going to do great.”

The car that they were riding in rolled to a stop. She could hear the paparazzi outside working themselves up into a fuss.

“Right.” She swallowed. “You sure you don’t have any gum?”

He laughed, pulling out a tin of breath mints from his suit pocket. “Will these do?”

She grabbed three mints from the tin and popped them into her mouth. She crunched on them hard, and the startling mint served to help ground her a little bit. Letting out a sigh, she gave him a grateful look. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And I feel the same about you,” he said, giving her one last smile. “Ready?”

“No, but I’m going out,” Marinette said, opening the door of the car and stepping out into the flashing lights. She heard Adrien laugh behind her, and she stepped aside to let him climb out. Before they proceeded to the inside of the building, he placed a steady hand on her shoulder. It was just a fleeting touch, and he didn’t say anything at all, but it comforted her all the same.

They walked inside.

The interview itself went just fine - like Adrien said. They were asked about the process, how they ended up working together, what it was like to be so young and so successful. Marinette found herself relaxing as the whole thing went on, despite her earlier nerves.

It’s not like she’d never been interviewed before; she’d been interviewed since she was fourteen as Ladybug. It was just different this time since this time she’d  _ have  _ to talk about herself. She just hadn’t thought she’d be interesting enough.

But as the interview went on, it was clear that the audience liked her - they laughed along with her jokes, smiled when she did, and overall seemed to really enjoy her answers to the questions. 

“Well, our hour is almost up,” the interviewer said with a rueful smile, “so we only have time for one last question for the both of you.”

“Shoot,” Adrien said, leaning forward with that charming smile of his.

“With your show going terrifically and with your careers on the fast track to success, who would you like to thank for supporting your work, your lives, and your dreams?”

“This one’s easy,” Marinette said with a smile, looking over at Adrien. “Adrien, obviously. I’m quite certain I would’ve been stuck in a bathroom only an hour ago or running around panicking every day before the show. He was the best person I could’ve possibly worked with for this show, and a dear friend.” The audience let out a chorus of ‘aw’s. Marinette continued. “And then, of course, there’s my parents, who’ve always supported me no matter what crazy things I asked for as a child for my newest designs, my friend Alya, who always kept me grounded, and Ch-” She stopped herself short of saying ‘Chat,’ clearing her throat. “And all the friends who’ve stuck by my side for years, always there to offer bad jokes and a shoulder to cry on when needed. That’s who I’d like to thank, really, so, uh” - she looked to the cameras, smiling and tucking her hair behind her ear, “thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have so many good people in my life.”

“That’s wonderful,” the interviewer said warmly, and Marinette looked away from the camera, giving the interviewer a smile. “Adrien?” the interviewer prompted, and he nodded.

“There’s Marinette, of course,” he said, looking over and giving her a smile. “Thank you for always making sure I went home to sleep, for being the best partner in this project I ever could’ve wanted, and for being a truly amazing friend all these years.” Marinette nodded, hoping her blush wouldn’t show through the makeup on her cheeks. “Nino - thank you for always showing me great music to work to, and also for making pancakes that one time. Those were delicious. Mom - thank you for always sharing meals with me, and for never failing to tell me when my hair looks stupid before fixing it yourself.” He paused, taking a deep breath and smiling softly at the camera. “And, last but not least, Emma Martin.”

Marinette froze.

“Thank you for always telling me when my jokes are bad, but always laughing at the good ones. Thank you for always asking me how I’m doing, and also for inspiring me to be the best version of myself I could be. And thank you, Emma Martin, for wanting me to stick around even though I’m sure you could save the whole world with your wit alone.” He paused. “Oh, and for coffee two years ago. You think I forgot to pay you back, but I didn’t, I promise.”

“Sounds like Emma Martin is quite important to you,” the interviewer said after a stunned silence.

Marinette tried to remember how to breathe.

“You’d feel the same if you knew who she was,” Adrien said with a shrug and a smile. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Right,” Marinette said rather weakly before clearing her throat. “Yes, it’s been wonderful.”

“Thank you both so much for coming out,” the interviewer said, and they all stood up. “Ladies and gentleman - Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

  
  


\---

  
  


“I’m going crazy,” Marinette said, pacing the length of her studio apartment and pulling at her hair. “Tikki, please tell me I’m going crazy, or I might just go crazy.”

“Well,” Tikki said, following as quickly as she could behind Marinette as she paced, “do  _ you  _ know of anyone named Emma Martin? He could’ve been talking about a coworker.”

“There was no one assigned to the project named Emma Martin, or else I would’ve known,” Marinette said, removing her hands from her hair to chew at her thumbnail. “And as for the whole building - I don’t- I mean, it’s such a generic name, so-” She let out a guttural sound she was sure her rude upstairs neighbors wouldn’t appreciate.  _ “Why  _ did I give him such a generic name? Why did I give him a name at all?”

She threw herself down onto the plush pink carpet she’d gotten fifty percent off at an estate sale. Tikki sat down on her chest.

“Well, from what I remember you saying all those years ago, you  _ did  _ say he asked nicely.”

“We were in the middle of an  _ akuma attack,”  _ Marinettte exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “The bar is kind of low in that sort of situation. And I thought it was ridiculous. Because it  _ was.  _ Is.” Her arms flopped back down onto the carpet. She covered her face with her hands. “I thought it was just him being silly, like always.”

“He was always silly about serious things,” Tikki said, and Marinette peeked through her fingers.

“Not helping.”

“I’m only being truthful,” Tikki said with a shrug. Marinette groaned. “And all I’m saying that it sounded a lot like Adrien was talking about you, and it would be alright if he was and you knew it.”

Marinette sat up straight, and Tikki fluttered through the air before Marinette let her rest in the palms of her hands. She squinted at her. “What are you saying.”

“It’s been seven years, Marinette,” Tikki said gently, patting Marinette’s finger with a small comforting hand. “I appreciate you taking your job so seriously, but if there was going to be another supervillain, I think they would’ve shown up by now.”

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek. She suddenly felt a little bit like crying.

“He wasn’t talking about me. Chat’s probably forgotten that name I gave him already. It’s been years.”

Tikki gave her a look. “You thought he’d forgotten about coffee two years ago.”

Marinette flopped back onto the carpet.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Okay, so I’ve done some digging on Emma Martin,” Alya said, and Marinette fumbled with her phone, grabbing her earbuds and plugging them in as fast as she could before stuffing them into her ears.

“Alya, I am at  _ work,”  _ she hissed into the microphone of her earbuds.

“That’s entirely your fault for answering my FaceTime when you knew it was me,” Alya said, and Marinette had to give her that one. “Anyway, don’t you want to hear about what I found on Emma Martin?”

Marinette shot a glance over to Adrien’s desk. He caught her gaze and smiled, and she smiled back at him before looking down to Alya on her phone screen. “Not particularly.”

“Perfect, so I checked all the people who work for your company,” Alya said, continuing on as if she hadn’t heard her, “and there’s one Emma Martin who works in the advertising department, but she’d already said on Twitter that it wasn’t her. So I dug into Adrien’s old modeling days, and there was a good prospect, but according to various different tabloids and news articles, Adrien and that Emma Martin haven’t met up since they modeled together for that one sports shoe commercial eight years ago.”

“I thought you didn’t trust tabloids,” Marinette muttered, massaging her temples.

“I don’t, which is why I asked Chloe, Nino,  _ and  _ Kagami. All three of them said they’d never heard Adrien  _ mention _ an Emma Martin, let alone rave about one like he did in that interview.” Alya paused, shaking her head and pushing up her glasses. “I mean, everyone online is going nuts about it, but Adrien won’t say anything about it.”

“You know he doesn’t know how to use Twitter,” Marinette said, and Alya rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, and what about Instagram? He posted a picture of that stray cat that hangs around his apartment building  _ this morning  _ and hasn’t replied to any of the comments asking about Emma Martin even though he replied to other comments about the cat,” Alya said, and Marinette dropped her head onto her desk. “I’m starting to think ‘Emma Martin’ is a fake name.”

“No,” Marinette said, sitting up straight and shaking her head. “Nope, that’s weird. Don’t even say that.”

“I mean it would make sense!” Alya said, starting to work herself up into a rant. “He knows what it’s like to be in the limelight, and if he’s got a secret girlfriend that he wants to protect, then he would want to thank her while protecting her. They would come up with a fake name together, and he would use that fake name so she would know he’s talking about her, and he could talk about her as much as he wanted - it’s genius!” 

“It’s a conspiracy theory,” Marinette countered.

“You should ask him about it,” Alya said. 

“I most certainly will not,” Marinette replied. “Talk to you later, love you, bye.” She hung up on Alya and dropped her head onto her desk.

Stupid Emma Martin.

Stupid Chat.

Stupid Adrien.

Stupid Ladybug from seven years ago.

“Crazy how everyone’s going insane over that Emma Martin stuff, huh?” Bridgette asked, and Marinette banged her head on her desk.

  
  


\---

  
  


“You have to ask him,” Tikki said.

“I will live the rest of my life suffering, thank you.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“Marinette!” Adrien exclaimed, holding the elevator door open for her. “Are you going to lunch, too?” His face was bright, his smile kind.

“I’m, uh, actually going. Back to my desk. Yup. I am here by the elevator for no reason,” Marinette said, and Adrien blinked.

“Oh,” he said. He looked a little disappointed. 

“Have a great lunch!” Marinette said, forcing a smile before walking stiffly back to her desk. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You can’t avoid him forever,” Tikki said. “You have to ask him.”

“I know,” Marinette said, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know.”

  
  


\---

  
  


Marinette paced in front of the door of Adrien’s apartment, chewing on her thumbnail through the gloves of her suit. She was going insane. This was stupid. 

There were a billion Emma Martins out there in the world, and it had been seven years since Chat had asked her for a name. He’d definitely forgotten.

Just like he’d forgotten about coffee two years ago.

This was ridiculous.

She turned to leave and bumped straight into a broad chest that smelled like that earthy and sweet cologne she could recognize anywhere.

“Oh, I’m terribly sor- Ladybug?”

Marinette stepped back. Fumbled for words. “Hi, uh, great citizen of Paris, I was just. Making sure these apartments were safe! Thanks!”

Adrien blinked at her. “Can I do anything to help?” he asked, and Marinette vigorously shook her head.

“Nope! Got it all handled! Have a good night!” She stepped past him and started to hurry toward the stairwell. Stupid idea. Stupid stupid stupid.

“Uh, you too,” Adrien called out to her as she descended the stairwell.

She was halfway toward the ground floor before she stopped and kicked herself. She was avoiding him -  _ again.  _ She was avoiding Adrien, and that was wrong and bad and nothing at all what a good friend should do. And if she didn’t ask, then she’d  _ keep  _ on avoiding him, and she’d lose him. 

Maybe even lose Chat, too.

And she didn’t want that.

No matter how scared she was of the truth.

She ran back up the stairs and back to the door of Adrien’s apartment, knocking hard on his door before she could change her mind. 

It opened only a moment later, and then she was staring up at Adrien, who was looking kindly at her.

“Was there something you needed after all?” he asked, and Marinette took a deep breath.

“I’m. Well. I’m here to ask about Emma Martin.”

Adrien blinked. “Oh.” He stepped aside, letting her into his apartment. “Why?”

She fiddled with her fingers, using all of her strength to keep eye contact with him. He closed the door behind her, gesturing for her to follow him into the kitchenette, and she did so, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Because.” She stopped, watching him fill up two glasses of water. “Well, because. Actually, I’m hoping you know why.”

“Hm.” He handed one of the glasses to her, taking a sip from his own. She could’ve sworn his eyes sparkled mischievously before he cleared his throat and set the glass on the counter. “And why would I know why you’re here about Emma Martin?”

Marinette squinted at him. His lips quirked up into a smile. “I don’t think she actually exists.”

“Of course she does,” he said. He took another sip of water.

“Then Emma Martin isn’t her real name.”

“Then what would be her real name?” Adrien asked, raising his eyebrows at her. His eyes were  _ definitely  _ sparkling mischievously. 

She’d known him for over a decade. How could she never have seen it?

“Adrien,” she said, and he tilted his head at her.

“Well, that wouldn’t be right at all,” he said, shaking his head rather seriously. “I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for the real Emma Martin’s name to be Adrien, that would just mean I was talking about myself-”

“Chat,” Marinette interrupted, and he grinned.

“My lady,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head with a laugh, “you’re  _ so  _ lucky you’re cute.”

“Am I?” he asked, taking a step toward her. She set her glass down on the counter, taking a step toward him.

“Very,” she said, and she let go of her transformation.

His eyes widened.  _ “Marinette,”  _ he breathed, and she smiled, taking his hand.

“Yes,  _ chaton?” _

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he asked, shaking his head. “You were there, right there - I thanked you  _ twice  _ in the interview. You heard.”

“I did,” Marinette said with a nod. “But I was scared. And I didn’t think you would’ve remembered.”

“But I did,” Adrien said. “I remember everything you told me, especially the name you gave me.” He paused, looking down at their hands, fingers laced together. “You’re not… scared anymore?”

“No,” Marinette decided. “Not if it’s you.”

He let out a shaking breath, leaning his forehead against hers. She stared at him, at his blonde eyelashes and his straight nose. She smiled.

“You said you remembered you owe me coffee from two years ago.”

He laughed, and then he took her face in his hands, and he kissed her.

And he kissed her.

And he kissed her.

And it tasted like mint and love, like aching and ice cream and years of passing each other by just to find each other again, and again, and again.

When they pulled away, he lingered for a moment longer to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Does that work for payment for that coffee?”

“Hm,” Marinette said, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. She pressed her face into his chest, and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, rubbing his thumbs in circles on her back. “No. Your only choice is to take me out to coffee again.”

“Oh,  _ no,” _ he said, rocking her back and forth and squeezing her tight. “What a  _ nightmare.  _ To be forced to take my best friend, partner in heroism, and long time crush out to coffee? The only way I’ll survive is if she calls it a date.”

“It’s a date,” she said with a laugh, and he held her as close as he could, resting his chin on her head.

“Remember when we were seventeen and you told me you could never go on a date with me?” he asked, and she flicked his arm.

“Remember when we were eighteen and I tried to confess my love to you, but you interrupted me to tell me how great of a friend I was?” she asked, and he pulled away, blinking down at her.

“You tried to confess your love to me?” he asked, and Marinette raised her eyebrows.

“Several times.”

She had no idea someone could look so overjoyed and devastated at the same time. 

“It seems we have a lot to catch up on,” he said after a long moment, swallowing hard, and Marinette laughed.

“Sounds like the perfect conversation to have over coffee.”

**Author's Note:**

> okay so. listen. do i have an essay due tomorrow that i have not started? yes. did i choose to work on this instead? also yes. and i think that's fine
> 
> anyway when i read LNC's tumblr post i literally fell to my knees i thought it was so good, and so i asked her if i could write this, and she said yes! hey LNC if youre reading this i love u. writing this i also looked up the most common french first name and the most common french last name, which is where the name 'emma martin' comes from.
> 
> in the first bit, they're about 19, and in the rest of the fic they're about 26. that doesn't really matter but i thought about it way more than i should've
> 
> anyway. i have to start this essay thanks for reading ily


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